Maura's Sex Diary
by 10speed
Summary: AU: A medical student's week in New York City. Slice of life.
1. Chapter 1

_New York Magazine's Sex Diaries series asks anonymous city dwellers to record a week in their sex lives — with comic, tragic, often sexy, and always revealing results. This week, a female medical student, here for an one month rotation at the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner of the City of New York, visits more than just crime scenes: 24, bisexual, single, Murray Hill._

DAY ONE:

3:33 a.m. Text message alert says to meet at a scene in Long Island City. Floater found by a couple of vagrants. Just went to bed two hours ago. Haven't slept enough to be hungover. Still feel the remnants of the last tequila shot sloshing around my cotton ball mouth. Kundalini probably on hold later.

3:38 a.m. It's raining today. Time to break in my Fifi Botta Louboutins and I am out the door. No cabs this early. The subway will take too long. Lyft it is. I smell like sex as I fish out some baby wipes from my Alma BB.

4:25 a.m. The sun will be up soon. The sky is already blossoming pink, like healthy lung tissue. I check my makeup discreetly, around the corner from the crime scene as the drizzle lands on the tip of my lipgloss brush. Mmm..petrichor gets my juices flowing. As do the memories from last night's Bad Habit. Can't remember how many mouths and lips I tasted. So many flavors.

7:20 a.m. Unknown number text: _Hey, found your thong in my bag. Trade you later at 1PP. Free for coffee?_ Could be the Aussie or Lady SVU. Investigate later. My boss is slicing up the cortex like fresh Alsatian butter. Said I could play with some tools today. Mentholatum across philtrum, check.

12:35 p.m. It's the Aussie by the Wafels & Dings. Blonde hair like spun sugar. Here on winter break before starting in the crown prosecutor's office. I showed her my sights down under, which she appreciated, four times to be precise, last week at Therapy. The VIP section is very discrete, love happy hour. Don't normally go for blondes but that brittle, frigid attitude gets me. What a talented tongue, a wholly underrated muscle in the human body. We flirt over espresso. She invites me to the Hamptons for the weekend, a friend of a friend and such.

4:40 p.m. SeattleSurgeon Facetimes, our end-of-the-weekly chat. Off-again with BoneBreaker. We play show-and-tell while I'm in the handicapped stall. It's harmless fun we started in three years ago before she transferred to the west coast. My visual cortex has a straight shot to my pudendal nerve, what can I say. Only broke out a light sweat when she took off her scrubs and shimmied her glorious breasts at the screen.

7:17 p.m. Another scene, this time near Bushwick, less grisly. The sulfur from the gunshot wounds linger in my nostrils. Post-mortem scheduled for early a.m. Meet up for a pie at Roberta's with LadySVU before her night shift. Quick peck goodbye, minimal tongue, promised to pencil her in for next week, early-ish.

9:20 p.m. Spied another brunette, with long curls this time, at the pool table, breaking a rack with a dark-skinned man, pretty eyes. Her smoky laugh tickles my ear canal, labyrinthine.

10:03 p.m. I startle awake. Still at Metropolitan, alas, no sign of the brunette. Catching the Cannonball to the South Fork tomorrow, should get my beauty sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

DAY TWO:

5:00 a.m. No bodies yet. Not on-call, but because of my limited time here, immersion is critical. Take the opportunity to practice my neglected suryanamaskar. The release is as good as the one I achieve afterwards, with my fingers in the shower, picturing the usual, Sally Yates and/or Justin Trudeau. Drop some condoms and dental dams in my overnight bag. Head to the train, pass the time cataloguing my own Hot Dudes/Dames Reading.

9:45 a.m. Outside the Maidstone Club for brunch, I bump into the EvilQueen. We run in the same circles, she of the political ilk. Her new lover, RedLeather, is interested in adding an extra for a Killing Kittens soiree that evening, the last of the season. I humbly offer my services.

1:13 p.m. As Aussie and I head out for some retail therapy, EvilQueen points out her lover in the distance, ambling towards us on a golf cart whose passenger is a woman similar in profile to my SmokeShow from last night, but with long, glossy, straight hair. My champagne goggles couldn't discern properly as I am tugged into our taxi.

1:16 p.m. Aggressive tonsil hockey initiated by the Aussie while bumper to bumper on Montauk Highway. Perhaps she is none too pleased about my earlier invitation. Luckily, we are in a Lincoln Town Car with tinted windows and privacy divider. I enthusiastically apologize with my mouth and hands.

2:50 p.m. Inside the Givenchy pop-up dressing room, I select a sheer white dress for the night's festivities. I am reminded of the model in Paris who strutted the catwalk in this outfit with a man on a leash wearing only a skimpy white riff on a kilt, and imagine we three at play in a lavish boudoir overlooking the Seine. My nipples tighten, sympathetic reflex. Tres magnifique.

4:20 p.m. The smooth, warm liquid trickles down my esophagus from Jack's Stir Brew Coffee. I take a brief respite on a bench under the trees in the town square. EvilQueen texts me the address with an addendum: Don't forget the La Perla, dear.

9:35 p.m. The Cronut and Kiwi Sorbet Bar spread is soon forgotten as newly formed couples pair off into playrooms in a mansion that looks like open, stacked concrete boxes scattered on a private beach off Meadow Lane. I am well-occupied in between RedLeather and EvilQueen when two knocks at the door finds me face to face with a double vision: two SmokeShows. Twins or cousins, we don't get too personal, we just get down to business. Someone slips a pill under my tongue as the soft EDM tangles in my brain. I vaguely recall seeing a bowl of them by the nyotaimori. Bon Appetit.


	3. Chapter 3

DAY THREE:

12:05 a.m. At some point, the ladies decided to engage in four-on-one play. It is my turn at last. I am on my back as SmokeShow commands my mouth and pulls at my areolae, edging me while EvilQueen and RedLeather caress the length of my torso and thighs, making out with each other while alternately plunging their fingers into my soaked cunt until one of them fists me. SmokeShow's Double fashions a plug out of a finger of ginger root at my behest, swiped from the catering flora. As she rims my tight, throbbing anus, lapping and spearing in and out, she lifts my legs onto her shoulders, sliding me to the edge of the chaise. She waits until I am trembling, almost paralyzed from the myriad sensations, and plunges the root into the waiting tunnel. The white heat of my orgasm sears my lower limbs, combusting with the intense warmth and tingling from the root. I see stars as I scream.

3:40 a.m. The low droning of helicopter blades slapping in the hot, thick air outside lulls me into wakefulness. My head is slumped against plump breasts which aren't mine. The buzz from earlier has abated. I pick up the clothes I can find via iPhone flashlight and stretch a Red Sox shirt over my aching arms. I depart through the patio, down the private boardwalk to the beach, my destination: two estates down further on the barrier peninsula where the Aussie is slumbering.

1:55 p.m. I am alone in a sea of crumpled sheets as I open my eyes, squinting into the afternoon sun on the horizon through glass wall. The ocean waves dance along with the reflection of its rays. An unread text from the Aussie pops up, _Hooroo, I'll give you a tingle upon my return. My flight this arvo. Feel free to stay long as you like. XXX._

5:20 p.m. I leisurely sprawl on the beach nude, under a cabana, meditating and re-centering my chakras with eyes closed. My body gleams with sunscreen and revitalizing energy. As I blindly reach for my Juice Press Soul Garden elixir, I feel soft lips kissing their way up my sternum, but alas, it is only the breeze.

7:59 p.m. My beautiful blonde host, the Countess, greets me on the stairwell when I return to the traditional, multi-gambrelled edifice and beckons me to the Hamptons Classic Horse Show tomorrow as her guest. I demur, so that she will insist upon my company.


	4. Chapter 4

DAY FOUR:

6:30 a.m. One notification and one message appear via Facebook alerts. Posted by RedLeather, a rather blurry and dark photo of the five of us entangled on the floor of the playroom sometime after our late night escapades, with the caption _Sleeping Beauties_ ;). I ignore the comments. The group message is from SmokeShow, _Anybody seen my fave Red Sox shirt?_. I step naked into the en suite bath, grab the shirt from the discard pile and hold it between my perky breasts, tousle my sleep-worn hair, pucker up, and snap her a text: _Come and get it_.

10:22 a.m. The Countess knocks quietly as I exit the bath, steam billowing across the floor. She is holding the most fashionable of Philip Treacy's latest creations and asks me to choose one to wear to the event. I model a large white floral fascinator with a lacy veil, a silver skewed tetromino, and a red striped translucent taffy wave. After some hemming and hawing, she proclaims that the taupe-colored towel I am wearing is too distracting and cannot decide. I grip the knot, slowly undo it, drop it to the floor and ask, "How about now?"

12:40 p.m. As we are both now rushing to get dressed, I notice the large champagne princess-cut diamond solitaire on her left ring finger and inquire with a lift of my brow. She replies, "Mother-in-law issues," as she tugs me back in for a long, lingering kiss. Her hand grips my derriere tightly. She slips the other palm along my sopping folds. With an index finger pressing back-and-forth on my clitoris, I climax rather quickly, considering the pleasure that was already taken minutes ago.

2:17 p.m. We escape the sweltering heat under the VIP tent at the Classic, sipping mimosas and greeting the summer locals. The Grand Prix is underway. I spy EvilQueen on her stallion, leaping and turning with ease amongst the obstacles. Her thighs grip with an assurance with which I am familiar; she is a strong rider. The Countess begs leave to her mingling duties and directs me to her stables where I can continue reminiscing my teenage equestrian days.

4:23 p.m. The sweet smell of warmed honey mingling with sautéed mushroom from the vegan burger cart nearby dampens down the musk of the stables. A bare-chested man, whom I recognize as 'the Bastard' of Countess' lore, is shoeing a dappled grey mare in a stall. When I introduce myself, he generously gives me a tour of the quarters and regales me with fascinating stories of his upbringing. We commiserate the loneliness of our youth. It is the sadness in his earnest eyes that brings my hand to his face, and my lips to his cheek. Things quickly spiral. A loud wooden thud draws his thick erection from between my buttocks, slick with our shared need. I grasp the shaft behind me and while he tugs my dress back down, I aim and release his come into the hay.

8:15 p.m. As the Countess holds up a gorgeous antique Jaeger-LeCoultre into the light, I glance a double-infinity tattoo adorning her flexor retinaculum. My curiosity begs me to ask, but before I can a shrill shriek bounces across the Boutique Garden. Following the stream of curious onlookers, we locate the the source to the Bugatti Niniette on display in the middle of the courtyard. I rush up the ladder to find the Bastard laying unconscious in the jacuzzi. A cold sweat coats his forehead. EMT have already swarmed onto the deck before I can perform CPR. I quickly dial my preceptor and obtain permission to ride back to the city with the patient in the air ambulance.


	5. Chapter 5

DAY FIVE:

3:30 a.m. I pull some strings with the hospital board because without any immediate family to contact, I want to make sure the Bastard is well taken care of. The Countess will make all other arrangements and inquires regarding his adoptive and biological family. He lays in the ICU, intubated from the medicopter when he seized. With AST/ALT and BUN/Cr levels through the roof and rising, I fear it won't be long now. LadySVU sits with me as I recount my sanitized version of events to the detective on the case. Her warmth beside me gives me strength.

1:17 p.m. My eyes are bleary as I crack one open. The surroundings are my parents' familiar guest bedroom of their little-used brownstone. I myself have only been inside twice. LadySVU envelops me in a deep, long hug. As I sip on the strong, black Blue Bottle coffee, she tells me she contacted my preceptor and mother while I was asleep. I lie on my side away from her and will the exhaustion away. I feel the bed shift as arms and legs curl around my fetal position. She kisses my crown as my eyes close again.

10:08 p.m. I am wearing elbow length rubber gloves and a knee-length apron in a large sterile room that has been freshly hosed down. The water is still trickling into the drain in the floor. I stare at the Bastard's face, but it seems more like a poorly-made mask featured in a B Hollywood film. The medical examiner who gave me the courtesy call peers into the abdominal cavity and lifts out the stomach. She slices into the organ and spills its contents into the metal bowl. I help her catalogue and send the specimen to the laboratory. Based on the evidence up till now, I surmise he was poisoned.

DAY SIX:

9:30 a.m. I am one of the first patrons to stream into the Metropolitan Museum of Art. At times like these when I need to process, I find it comforting to be amongst genius and beauty. Georges Braque once said " _Art is made to disturb. Science reassures. There is only one valuable thing in art: the thing you cannot explain_. _"_ The results of the autopsy are inconclusive. The Countess informs me that he will be cremated tomorrow. Where is the justice in that?

11:46 a.m. Looking up from my cup of Bi Luo Chun late spring 2015 on the mezzanine, a pair of clear blue eyes behind stern black-framed glasses peer at me from the table across. We regard each other for a beat. I nod and she heads over. "Are you alright?" The tears begin tumbling down but I am unwilling to stop them.

2:58 p.m. We sit by the obelisk facing the Great Lawn in Central Park. When I turn to speak, I find her lips on me, soft and pliant. I am hesitant, but I do return the gesture. She will spend another semester clerking for her uncle, a federal judge in the city, and probably stay. Another time, another circumstance, perhaps.

DAY SEVEN:

10:27 a.m. Received a reply from SmokeShow several days ago. I think I will call her up when I get back to Boston. She just started at the police academy. I finally respond: _Can you make me laugh?_

A/N: This has been a multiverse brought to you by _Janet King, Law & Order: SVU, Once Upon a Time, and Revenge._


End file.
